All Saints Day
by whatsamatta
Summary: Mors ultima linea rerum est. *A Lorenzo-centric LorenzoXLila. Rated for death*


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

It was two thirty in the afternoon on a Thursday in July. I don't think I could forget it if I tried. It was abnormally hot, but the air conditioning in the Manor allowed my family and our staff to endure the heat with minimal damage. Mother was outside with the gardeners, tending to her prize winning roses, while I was up in my office going over stock numbers. We were up some two hundred points since opening that morning, which was amazing in this terrible economy.

Suddenly, one of my many electronic devices started going off like mad, and I frantically dug through paper after paper, draw after draw in search of the one ringing. My quest ceased, however, when I found, hidden in the second draw on the right of the desk, my wife's sketchbook. The obnoxious ringing faded away as I flipped through the pages, admiring her skilled hand. Most were of flowers and architecture found around the Estate, however there were a few of her father, my mother, myself, and children I could only assume would be ours someday. She always wanted children, we both did, but we just hadn't conceived yet.

"Lorenzo!" I heard my mother call from out in the garden in what sounded like confusion. I stood, setting down the book with care while making my way to the window. I had planned on opening it so I could look out at her, but her second call had me momentarily frozen.

"_**LORENZO!**_" she sounded frantic, her voice was high and nearly cracked with the emotion she forced out. Running to the window, I threw it open to find what could only be described as a swarm of armed men in black rounding up the gardeners and lawn hands. My mother was being held by two men; she was struggling a bit, but with her age the only thing she could really do was squirm and shout. They led her inside while a small group of others lined up the workers. Once I heard the doors slam open, the armed men readied their guns. I could only watch in petrified horror as all of my grounds staff was gunned down execution style by firing squad.

My mother's scream jolted me from my shock, and I willed my feet to run as fast as they could carry me. Throwing open the door to my study open so hard that I may have knocked it off its hinges, I bounded down the hallway and took the stairs two and three at a time.

"_**LORENZO!**_" my mother shouted again, and when I reached the landing of the staircase I stopped at the sound of another voice.

"Madam, I do formally apologize for the way my companions have treated you. You are a lady of high standing nobility, and do not deserve to be manhandled by a couple of manner-less thugs. I must also apologize for the way we have been forced to meet; I think under different circumstances, you and I could have been wonderful friends. Unfortunately, I must kill you now, but I want you to know it has been an honor to meet you, and to see your lovely home." As the feminine voice concluded her speech, I walked down the last steps and peeped around the corner. A tall woman in a classy black dress had both her hands around my mother's neck, and was swiftly squeezing the breath away. Mother's eyes drifted to mine, and she smiled reassuringly, even as the life slowly drained from those deep brown orbs. It couldn't have been even three minutes before those eyes that held so much love for me and for her family, clouded over and her figure slumped.

That tall woman, who had just killed my mother, caught her body and handed her gently over to one of the men. I felt my eyes burn with fear and hurt as the woman brushed away stray strands of my mother's hair, replacing them in the clip she used as a style.

"Lay her on one of the marble benches out in the garden. This woman loved flowers, it seems only fitting that she rest there." She instructed, and the man nodded while carrying my beloved, dead mother outside and to the gardens. She turned with a somber smile, and caught my gaze. Before I had a chance to run or even react, a large pair of hands gripped my arms, pinning them uselessly to my sides.

"Ah, Mr. Ortega, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Assuredly I have heard nothing but good things." I couldn't hear her flattering words, I could only see her killing my mother, over and over and over again, playing like a looped video before my eyes.

"You've killed my mother!" I shouted, and her smile saddened just a touch.

"Yes, I have, and as I told her it is a shame we hadn't met earlier. Now, my associates and I have business with you, as your mother learned, and we cannot leave until it is completed. So, my friend here shall escort you as we all take a little tour of your beautiful home." She was so, so polite. How can murderers be so damn polite?

The hold on my arms tightened, and I realized that the burly man behind me could very well crush me with little effort. He could probably snap the woman in front of us in half, but she seemed to have control over the whole situation. As we walked from room to room, I could only watch helplessly as my staff was being butchered. Santos, our head butler, was ushered with the rest of the maids into the living room and shot by a firing squad.

We were led into the kitchens, and I stared with wide eyes as the cooking staff was put on their knees. The man who appeared to be in charge of the execution turned to the woman, who nodded with a stoic look on her face. He then grinned sadistically, and nodded to the men who had moved behind my personnel. One by one, those on their knees had their throats slit with the very knifes their work lived by.

She took us out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to my study. The woman sat in my high back chair behind the desk, while the man stood with me before her, his grip never wavering. She looked at the photos lining the desk, then picked up the sketch book and flipped through it with mild interest.

"These are your wife's, yes? Hm, she has quite the talent." She admired, and could only nod, numb from shock of the death surrounding me.

"Tell me, where is your lovely wife?" the woman asked, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"She-she's gone, gone away for the week. Visiting family out in the country." I lied, I had to lie. She smiled, setting down the sketch book and leaning back in the chair.

"Now that's unfortunate. I was hoping to meet the lovely Mrs. Ortega, I've heard such wonderful things about her caring nature." The gushing was making me sick. I was just about to demand what she was doing with me and my family, why she was here, when to my horror I heard the front door open.

"Lorenzo? Hello? Santos, Gabriella? Anybody home?" my wife's soft voice drifted upstairs as I heard her shut the door and begin wandering through the Manor. There was silence as the woman smiled.

"Out of town, huh?" my blood ran cold as I heard my wife scream.

"_**LORENZO!**_"

The woman stood slowly as my wife's struggling reach my ears.

"_**WHO ARE YOU?! LET ME GO! LORENZO!**_"

"I believe it's time I meet Mrs. Ortega." She informed me as she pulled out a small .38, heading towards the door with a set purpose. I could hear her heels making each slow and deliberate step down the staircase, and something in me snapped.

With all my might I shoved the man off of me and ran out the door and down the stairs, absolute horror on my face as I watched my wife in the arms of two large men.

Even in her pure terror, she was a beautiful vision. She was wearing the knee-length, spaghetti strapped white sun dress with a wide blue sash just below the bust. It was in only that dress that her father would remember who she was. Her red hair was up in a simple yet stunningly elegant bun, and her eyes were wide with fright.

"Lila!" I shouted, and when her fantastically crystal blue orbs caught mine, I nearly died. She was terrified.

"Lorenzo!" she called, and began thrashing about wildly as the men dragged her into the coat closet. The woman followed them, flashing me a calming and somber smile before shutting the door behind her. By then, the man I had escaped from had caught me, and hauled me back up the stairs. I was too stunned to fight back, and allowed him to take me back into the study as the sound of a single gunshot reverberated through the otherwise silent halls, echoing in my ears.

I was numb as the woman returned a few minutes later, but didn't re-seat herself in the chair, rather leaned against the front desk before me. The man shoved me onto my knees, and she crossed her arms over her small chest with peaceful reserve.

"You killed her, killed them." I mumbled, and she nodded.

"I wish things could have been different, but we are all only chess pieces, and the master players have created extenuating circumstances." She reasoned, and I could only nod, but questions still plagued my mind.

"Who are you people?" I asked, and she smiled secretively.

"I'm afraid there it no reason for you to know that. We have no intention of letting you live, so there is no need for me to tell you." she explained, and I thought back to my mother, to Lila, all of the people who have become my family over my lifetime; they were all dead.

"Why?" Even without elaborating, she seemed to understand what I was asking.

"For certain confidential rationale, I will not tell you our occupation, nor the clients who hire us. All I can tell you is that persons who shall remain nameless called us to remove you from the earth. Their reasons are their own, and we make it our policy not to ask before or after the check clears. Now, Mr. Ortega, it is my moral obligation to offer you last words: are you ready to leave the world?" she was so professional, it was unsettling. I desperately wanted to know who would want to have my family killed, but this woman had a strong wall, and it was obvious I would just have to die with no answers.

"Mors ultima linea rerum est." I said while performing the cross, and she smiled.

"You're right my friend, it seems the death is the ultimate limit of everything. I hope you and your family find happiness in the afterlife. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." She also crossed herself, before stepping behind me. I felt the barrel of that small gun at the back of my head, and began counting down the seconds before my life ended. Just before that bullet made contact with the inside of my skull, I swear I saw Lila and my mother standing before me, waiting for me, beckoning me to join them.

It was two thirty in the afternoon on a Thursday in July. I don't think I could forget it if I tried.

HA


End file.
